The Shadow Hunter

withdrawing into a sulk.
    She thought she was ready for anything, but when he spoke, his question surprised her. “Did you really come here from Riverside?”
    “Sure,” she said, holding her voice steady.
    “And you had a fiancé who cheated on you?”
    “Yes, I did.” She didn’t like being interrogated. She tried to turn the tables. “Why would you ask?”
    “Sometimes I have the feeling you’re not what you seem.”
    Not good. How to respond? With a smile. “Then what am I?”
    He smiled also, but it was a smile without humor.
    “An image. An illusion. Or maybe what I said the first time we met: an actress.”
    “I told you, I’m a girl trying to get her head together after a bad breakup. Nothing more complicated than that.”
    “Everything is more complicated than that.” He studied her openly, his food forgotten. She knew he had more to say, and she waited for it. “Do you know how it feels,” he asked finally, “to want to believe in something…or someone…when you’re not sure you can?”
    She saw what looked like anguish in his face and almost pitied him. “I know how it feels. But there are times when you’ve got to believe.”
    “Why?”
    “Because relationships are built on trust.” She thought of Travis when she said it, Travis with his stash of CDs.
    Hickle shifted closer to her on the sofa. She could feel him trembling, but whether it was a signal of fear or rage she couldn’t guess. “You trusted your fiancé,” he said, “and he lied to you.”
    “Not everybody lies.”
    “I think they do.”
    He leaned toward her, and she felt the heat coming off his body and knew his pulse was racing. He might be preparing to strike. She almost tensed in anticipation of a fight, but if she did, he would sense it.
    “I think,” Hickle said slowly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “everybody lies all the time. We all put on an act. We hide from view.”
    “Including you?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “And me?”
    “I think so, Abby.”
    “So you don’t trust me.” She put no judgment in the words.
    “I’d like to, I really would.”
    “But you don’t.”
    “Should I?”
    “Of course you should. I’m trying to be your friend.”
    “What else are you?”
    “Nothing else.”
    She saw the intensity building in his gaze. “Who are you, really?” he whispered.
    Her purse was on the coffee table, but to reach it she would have to spring forward, and with Hickle pressed against her, she wasn’t sure she could. “I’m your friend, Raymond.” She knew he wasn’t buying it. “Just your friend.” If he had any kind of weapon, she was dead.
    “My friend.”
    “Yes.”
    “I hope so,” he said, leaning nearer, closing the distance between them, and he kissed her.
    It was the briefest kiss, a gentle meeting of the lips, and Abby knew it was unplanned, an act of impulse. She did not resist or respond. Hickle was the one who pulled back in a violent recoil that upset the plate in his lap.
    “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have—didn’t mean to—”
    Abby didn’t know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed, but she was suddenly sure he posed no immediate threat. “It’s okay, Raymond,” she said soothingly. “Forget about it. It’s okay.”
    He looked away, his face flushed scarlet, and then he saw the multicolored stain painted on the sofa by his spilled chicken and pork.
    “Uh oh,” Abby said, following his gaze. “Looks like it’s wet cleanup time.”
    “I’ll take care of it.”
    “We’ll do it together. Wait here.” She busied herself in the kitchen, wetting paper towels under a stream of tap water. When she returned to the sofa, she saw Hickle standing near the coffee table, nervously shifting his weight like a boy who had to go to the bathroom. Whatever his intentions had been in coming here, kissing her had not been on the agenda.
    He took the towels from her and blotted up the mess. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
    “Don’t worry about it. The furniture’s not even mine. Besides, it looks like you got rid of the stain.”
    “I think so.” Hickle put down the towels and began edging toward the door. “Guess I’d better be going. It’s late.”
    “Only nine.” Suddenly she didn’t want him to go. He’d reached out to her in his clumsy way. She wanted to explore the new path he’d opened for her.
    “I’m kind of tired.” He put his hand on the doorknob.
    She tried stalling. “There’s some leftovers for you to